Penal Substitution is a Beautiful Thing, Pt. 2

Last week, I wrote what I never intended to be part one of an essay on penal substitution. It ended up being lengthy, shocking no one, and as such I wanted to conclude my train of thought from last week, especially in arguing for the goodness and beauty of penal substitution.

PSA Is Beautiful Because it Takes God Seriously

One of my favorite doctrines is the doctrine of the Trinity. It’s arguably the central doctrine of the Christian faith, a key differentiator when Christianity is compared with other religions, and the doctrine from which all others flow. At the same time, it’s one of the most confusing and neglected doctrines in most places that aren’t systematic theology classrooms. We give a nod to the Trinity in our hymnody, with the “Navy Hymn” and some versions of “Holy, Holy, Holy” mentioning the Trinity explicitly for instance. Preachers and teachers will refer to the Trinity periodically and it’s implicit when discussing the deity of Christ and the deity of the Holy Spirit. Of course, it comes up in Bible classes and any explanation of the doctrine historically or Biblically is almost certainly accompanied by an analogy that is probably heretical and definitely unhelpful. Analogies only work, after all, if the things being compared are analogous.

Tragically, the doctrine of the Trinity is usually the first to be ignored or overlooked when discussing other doctrines, and this is especially true when discussing the atonement and the crucifixion. A question will sometimes be asked: “Why did God kill Jesus?” Sometimes it’s asked by well meaning people who are just getting their legs underneath them in the faith, and sometimes it’s asked by people who know that framing the discussion in such terms presents certain issues to be solved. A few answers can be offered, some more immediately helpful than others:

Asking why God killed Jesus presents, unintentionally or otherwise, the idea that there’s a distinction between the two, and that’s simply untrue. Jesus is God. The question is therefore flawed.
Asking why God killed Jesus takes away Jesus’ own agency (as does calling the crucifixion “divine child abuse.”) Never mind the notion that doing so infantilizes or enfeebles Jesus or falsely posits him as a victim of someone else’s devices. Jesus himself says, “No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own. I have the right to lay it down, and I have the right to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.” (John 10:18, CSB) The question is, again, flawed.

What’s so fascinating to me is that when we look at the cross, some reject PSA by asking, “How dare you suggest God did this to Jesus?!” It gives, intentionally or not, the impression that the person asking has forgotten that God isn’t just in heaven at the crucifixion. God is on the cross, in the form of a tortured and broken man. Note the cry from the cross, “My God my God, why hav you forsaken me?” Jesus regularly spoke of God as the Father or his Father, even saying, “I and the Father are one.” Yet, when he cries out at the cross, it’s not the language of Father to Son. It’s the language of a man crying out to his God. This is not, I think, subordinationism or even a breaking of the intra-Trinitarian relationship. Instead, what we see at the Cross is not the Father abandoning the Son ontologically. Instead, borrowing from Fred Sanders, we see, in full, the Divine and human encounter over sin. It’s not the Father’s wrath against the Son. It’s God’s wrath against man for sin, borne by God incarnate. None of this begins to touch on other reasons why Jesus would quote Psalm 22, a psalm beginning in despair and ending in triumph.
More pointedly, to call the crucifixion in a PSA framework divine child abuse or to treat it like a tragedy being perpetrated against a powerless Jesus, is, bluntly put, blasphemous. Jesus is not a battered victim, powerless to resist his aggressor, nor is he an unsuspecting victim blindsided by what happens to him. Neither is he battered in some internal way, whimpering, “He hurts me because he loves me,” or “It’s my fault he acts like this,” on the cross as his abuser looks on. He is fully and truly God, equal in dignity, authority, and power to the Father. The Father does not batter or coerce the Son into the crucifixion. To say otherwise is to insist that Jesus is mistaken in both his assertions of the Father’s love for him and of his own agency in dying. What we see on the cross is not a man being slaughtered to satisfy a bloodthirsty god. What we see on the cross is God taking upon himself in flesh the penalty due for the sins of those who could never endure such a penalty themselves.

As such, PSA is a beautiful doctrine because it gives us a framework within which to place the actions of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit. The Father sends the Son, who lives, dies, and rises for those who believe in him, and the Spirit breathes new life into those who trust the Son for their salvation and sanctifies them. (Matthew 10:40; Luke 10:16; John 3:16; 1 John 4:14; 1 Peter 1:2; 2:24) At the cross we see not the disjunction of the Trinity or the turning of the Father against the Son, but the outworking of the members of the Trinity’s lover for each other and for us. PSA is beautiful because it shows us how God is active in his world, working even through the most painful and brutal things that this world can muster to bring about redemption and most importantly, forgiveness.

PSA is Beautiful Because it Takes the Breadth of Biblical Language Seriously

This final point may raise some eyebrows, but hear me out. A moral exemplar model of atonement, as put forward by the Socinians, Abelard, and a few others, posits that Jesus died to give mankind a powerful example and inspire us to be and do better. To be sure, we are told by Paul to imitate Christ and have his same mindset, as we see in Philippians 2. Why, however, do we need an example?

Consider also a ransom model, a la Origen and many of the early church’s most prolific writers. In a ransom model of atonement, Jesus sacrifices himself and hands himself over to Satan in exchange for the souls of mankind. Satan takes the exchange, unaware that he is taking no less than God himself into his clutches. He fails to keep Christ in his clutches and so mankind is freed and Satan is defeated. Never mind that nowhere in the Bible is it affirmed that the Son pays a ransom to Satan, though the concept of ransom is consistent throughout Jesus’ ministry and the writings of the New Testament. It is indeed true that mankind is enslaved and must be set free. The question is, why are we enslaved?

Consider further a Christus Victor model, defended most vigorously by Gustaf Aulén and in many ways a synthesis of the ransom view of the atonement and the language of Christ triumphing over sin and death used (rightly, I think) by the early church. Colossians especially beautifully and briefly extols the reality of Christ conquering all opposing forces in his death, burial, and resurrection. That said, such a view begs the question: Why do these things have any power at all?
You’ve probably guessed already that the answer I would propose is, of course, sin. I’ve already spent a great deal of time detailing sin and how it demands a price be paid, so I’ll cut straight to the chase:

A moral exemplar, no matter how exemplary, is useless to those who are dead in sin and by nature children of wrath. (Eph. 2) The moral exemplar view fails because it can only suggest a better way. The moral exemplar Christ doesn’t change the fact that people are dead in sin and hate God, nor does it erase the debt they already owe.
A ransom payed implies one to whom the ransom is owed. Ransom models are inadequate because they don’t account for who the ransom is properly owed. Man doesn’t owe Satan anything for his release, as Satan is not the keeper of the debt (Matthew 6:12; Col 2:14; Matthew 18:21–35). Jesus says that anyone who sins is a slave to sin (John 8:34). It’s obviously true that John also says that whoever sins is of the devil (1 John 3:8), but to insist on this being a statement of ownership rather than analogous relationship or the like is a stretch of language. Further, consider the absurdity of deity paying ransom to Satan, a created being. We pay ransoms in the physical world because we expect that we are, at best, on even footing with the one demanding ransom. Imagine how foolish it is to demand ransom from someone who can unmake you with a word. Aside from the fact that we are indebted to God because of our sin and so ransom would only logically be paid to him, if we were indeed held captive by Satan, negotiating would hardly be viable. The ransom theory may then beg, in some circles, the question of why God would ever deign to “negotiate with terrorists” rather than storming the gates of hell and taking back what is rightfully his. Instead, subterfuge is arguably employed (a matter both far afield here and the subject of interesting debate).
The Christus Victor model shares the same shortcomings as a traditional ransom model, with an additional one akin to the moral exemplar model. It is true and right that Jesus conquers sin and death in the crucifixion and to deny that is out of bounds for those concerned with orthodoxy. However, conquering sin and death, thereby robbing them of their power, does not change the fact that sins have been committed. Some might object, but this is a salient point. God is the one who imposes the penalty for sin, not Satan or some other arbitrary spiritual force. He does not do this because some outside force holds his feet to the fire. Instead, he imposes penalties for sin because, as we established earlier, sin is antithetical to who God is.

PSA is beautiful because it can acknowledge the realities rightly confessed by other models of atonement and say, “That’s not all.” PSA allows one to take equally seriously 1 Peter 1:21–25 and Colossians 2:8–15, without needing to explain one or the other away. In a PSA model of atonement, room is made for the triumph of Christ over sin and death, the paying of the ransom to set the captives free, the leaving behind of a righteous example, and the paying of the penalty owed for sin. Some may accuse me here of offering an eclectic model of the atonement and simply calling it PSA, and I can understand that. However, I insist on using the moniker of PSA not because of what is included, but of what other models exclude, intentionally or otherwise. The other models of atonement, by accident or design, and usually by the insistence of their modern proponents, exclude PSA. PSA as a model of atonement has no such impulse. Instead, a faithful application of PSA allows one to see that in his death on the cross, his burial, and resurrection, Jesus accomplished so much for those who believe in him, that only in the next life will we have time to properly extol the depths and riches thereof. In this life, we can affirm, freely and faithfully, that in Christ’s definite, we find forgiveness, freedom, a new way to live, and assurance that no force, spiritual or mundane, can hope to match the power by which we have been reconciled to God.

In Conclusion

As you’ve likely guessed, I shamelesssly affirm penal substitutionary atonement. Hopefully, this laborious essay has given you an idea why. So much has been written on all sides of the debate on atonement that it would take years to adequately survey the research, much less interact with it meaningful. As such, I want to encourage you, dear reader, to read widely and deeply on the matter, most importantly within the pages of the Bible of course. More than that, it’s my hope that you’ll spend as least as much time glorifying Christ for his atoning work as you do theorizing about the precise mechanics thereof, preferably more. I doubt this essay will change the minds of anyone accustomed to a different model, but I hope that it will prompt serious and fruitful inquiry for both the uninitiated and deeply entrenched. As Augustine might say, take up and read! More importantly, look to our Savior in praise of his work, knowing that he has indeed accomplished all that he intended and his death was not in vain.